oked about her, well pleased with
the whole effect. "Now," she exclaimed, "I am at home, thank God! I
shall be able to study, to read and write, think and pray at last,
undisturbed."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

As Dan sympathised with none of Beth's tastes or interests, and seemed
to have none of his own with which she could sympathise, their stock
of conversation was soon exhausted, and there was nothing like
companionship in their intercourse. If Beth had had no resources in
herself, she would have had but a sorry time of it in those days,
especially as she received no kindness from any one in Slane. Some of
the other medical men's wives called when she first arrived, and she
returned their calls punctually, but their courtesy went no farther.
Mrs. Carne, the wife of the leading medical practitioner, asked her to
lunch, and Mrs. Jeffreys, a surgeon's wife, asked her to afternoon
tea; but as these invitations did not include her husband, she refused
them. She invited these ladies and their husbands in return, however,
but they both pleaded previous engagements.

After the Maclures had been some little time at Slane, Lady Benyon
bethought her of an old friend of hers, one Lady Beg, who lived in the
neighbourhood, and asked her to call upon Beth, which she did
forthwith, for she was one of those delightful old ladies who like
nothing better than to be doing a kindness. She came immediately,
bringing an invitation to lunch on the following Sunday, already
written in case she should find no one at home.

Dan was delighted, "We shall meet nothing but county people there," he
said, "and that's the proper set for us. They always do the right
thing, you see. They're the only people worth knowing."

"But Beg is miles away from here," Beth said; "how shall we go?"

"We'll go in the dogcart, of course," Dan answered.

He had set up a dogcart on their arrival, but this was the first time
he had proposed to take Beth out in it.

As they drove along on Sunday morning in the bright sunshine, Dan's
spirits overflowed in a characteristic way at the prospect of meeting
"somebody decent," as he expressed it, and he made remarks about the
faces and figures of all the women they passed on the road,
criticising them as if they were cattle to be sold at so much a point.

"That little girl there," he said of one, whom he beamed upon and
ogled as they passed, "reminds me of a fair-haired little devil I
picked up one night in Paris. Ga